


monaco

by soapyconnor



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Blood, Emotional Trauma, Other, Suicide mention, Violence, angsty, death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-17 01:33:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11265207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soapyconnor/pseuds/soapyconnor
Summary: james is an asshole. alastair's had enough of it.





	monaco

**Author's Note:**

> THIS HASN'T BEEN EDITED SOOO YEAH SORRY FOR THE MISTAKES

James was throwing a hissy fit again.

Alastair sighed as he heard James shouting at Teddy, and how Teddy would try to calmly speak back, but to no avail.

The whole crew was gathered outside, rather not being in there while their boss and driver went at it. Alastair didn’t blame them. He wouldn’t want to be in their either.

They were at Monaco, and while it did leave a sour taste in everyone’s mouth that one car did retire, there was nothing they could do. James seemed to blame them for everything that went wrong, which seemed to be the main thing he was shouting at Teddy. Even if they had somehow managed to get him back out there, nothing would have gotten better. Alastair doubted if James would have even been able to match Niki today . . .

Jochen came in for a quick change of tires and then was gone. Alastair glanced down at the time sheets. Jochen wouldn’t be able to catch Niki either, he was simply too fast.

Alastair eventually drowned the two out, too focused on making sure everything else ran smoothly. Being a leader was never what he wanted, but it’s what he had to do now.

As he watched the cars pass and heard Teddy say, “James, there’s only so much we can do. We build the cars and check them over and make sure they’re ready. We can’t check them over every second of every day to make sure nothing has gone wrong—” and James respond with, “Well maybe you should!”

He sighed. He liked Teddy, but he wasn’t commanding. Of course, he could order people around and tell them what do with the full expectation of them doing it, but he couldn’t command them in a way that made people feel like they _wanted_ to do it. Teddy also wasn’t well liked, and most of their employees had no faith in the man, or even felt even an ounce of loyalty. Even six years later, it was still a trend. Teddy could only really control the team and give them orders because everyone there was one hundred percent dedicated to the founder and dedicated to keeping his memory alive. If it hadn’t been for Bruce, this team wouldn’t be still holding it together.

Alastair’s stomach twisted at the thought of his name. He hadn’t thought it in so long, not because he was forgetting about him, but because every time he thought of him, it caused him to feel sick and tear up.

Alastair plopped his sunglasses down on his face, his eyes starting to tear up. God, he couldn’t think about him, even now. Even after going to a therapist and working out all that happened, just the mere thought of the man was too much to handle.

He swallowed harshly, helping one of the mechanics get the board ready. Everything was starting to flood back. The Can Am car, with it’s new orange and shiny body coming down the straight. Bruce pulling in, saying he wanted the wing adjusted, and then he’d do another lap before lunch. Bruce taking off away from them, the incredibly loud engine echoing his departure and signaling where he was nearly at all times. Then . . . then . . .

“Alastair? You alright?” one of the mechanics asked, looking at him with concern as the other one threw the board out.

Alastair—realizing he had been crying—wiped at his cheeks and said, “I’m fine,” before he headed back to the paddock. His mind was racing. He remembered the silence, how he and Colin panicked, and got into his car, circling the track to find Bruce. The worst parts were starting to come back now. Getting out, seeing the crash, running towards Bruce’s body, which had been ejected from the car and flung across the field. Gently touching his body and seeing that he was limp, his body was completely broken. He was a ragdoll. Tremors gently shook his body as he remembered cradling Bruce, holding him tightly and crying until an ambulance came. God, everything was coming back.

A hand went up to clutch at his hair as he remembered the paramedics practically having to tear Bruce from him, how he wouldn’t let him go, how he _couldn’t_ —

“Alastair?” Teddy called gently, pulling him from reliving the nightmare.

“Yes?” he responded, voice cracking. Teddy seemed unaware of the fact his cheeks were covered in tear streaks. Teddy seemed unaware of anyone’s grief, though . . . He was the only one who never seemed really all that affected by his death. It made Alastair resent him even more.

“I can’t get through to James. Mind talking to him? Maybe he’ll feel better if he’s talked too by someone closer in age—”

“I don’t make friends with drivers,” Alastair interrupted, “You know that.”

“I’m not asking you to be his friend.”

“Yes, you are. That’s what ‘if he’s talked too by someone closer in age’ means. ‘Oh Alastair, if you go in and act like you’re friends, perhaps he’ll listen to you?’. I’m not going to do it,” he responded, raising a hand and chewing at his nails. “I can’t do it.”

“You can and you will. You don’t have to be his friend. Just go in there and talk.”

Alastair stood up. “Fine,” he said, bitterness seeping into his voice, “if that’s what you want.” He walked into the garage, and looked around. James was no where in sight. He sighed, and walked deeper into the garage. He found James laying between a stack of tires, a cigarette in his mouth.

James briefly looked up. “Go away,” he said, taking a drag and then blowing it out towards Alastair.

He crinkled his nose and sat down. “No,” he said with a sigh, “Teddy wants me to talk to you.”

“Oh, isn’t that a travesty?” James replied, taking another drag and blew it in Alastair’s face. He waved his hand in front of his face, dispelling in the smoke.

“Oh, it is,” Alastair replied, trying to stop from rolling his eyes. “Look, James, you’re being really unfair to the team. We’re trying. It’s not like we _want_ this to happen. The team is trying very hard to get the cars reliable enough so you can win. We’re not trying to set you up for failure.”

“Interesting, but considering there’s been no results, your comments mean nothing to me,” he replied, visibly frustrated. Alastair frowned, and bit his tongue, wanting to get up and walk away from this asshole.

Instead, he forced himself to stay. He pulled his sunglasses off, and said, “Do you enjoy being an asshole? Because that’s what you’re being. Just because we’ve been struggling doesn’t mean we’re not trying. I mean . . . Jochen is doing fine. It’s just we need to get your car up to shape. We’re trying, James.”

James eyed him, and then his eyes landed on his cheeks, then up to his red eyes. “Oh, are you? Or are you too busy weeping about your dead boss?” he said, causing Alastair to stumble back onto his ass.

Alastair stared at him, his breath quickening. It started to come back, him holding Bruce’s limp body, crying hard and in denial—

“What are you doing here anyways? Trying to be my friend? You’ve been nothing but an asshole. Why the hell would you think you could come in here and talk—?”

“Shut _up_ ,” Alastair breathed, covering his mouth with his hand, “just shut _up_ , you fuck.”

James, of course, didn’t shut up. “Or what? You’re going to fire me? Or punch me? Oh, I’m _terrified_. But I should know, you aren’t going to do anything. That’s not what _he_ wanted—”

“Shut up!” Alastair shouted, lurching forward and punching James in the jaw. “Shut _up!_ ” he continued, raising his fist and punching him in the nose. He climbed on top of him, raising his fist again to punch him again when James spoke.

“Beating me up isn’t going to bring him back. Even if he did, he’d be disappointed in you,” James replied, spitting blood in his face.

Alastair took a moment, tightly clenching James’ overalls in his fist and breathing hard. He stared hard at James, before he climbed from him and sat down on the floor. “You don’t know what he would have wanted.”

“Would you?”

“Yes,” Alastair snapped, “I worked with him. He was my friend.”

“Doubtful, but okay.”

“Stop talking like you fucking knew him!”

“I’m not talking like I know him. I’m talking like I know you, and I do, and I know you don’t become friends with drivers.”

“Oh really? Did you figure that out on your own?” Alastair said bitterly, rubbing at his eyes.

“Mm. More or less. Why are so pissed off? Just stating the truth,” he said, breathing hard and using his sleeve to clear the blood from his nose. “He’d be pissed off at you for beating up a driver, since he was so _kind hearted._ ”

“He was kind hearted, but he’d be more pissed off at you for being an asshole. He would have ripped you apart if he had heard that,” Alastair spat, and then coughed. “He’d think me beating you up was a stupid in the moment thought, but wouldn’t chastise me for it. You know nothing about him. Stop acting like you do.”

“Alright, then tell me what I don’t fucking know Alastair,” James replied, rolling his eyes, and flicking his cigarette across the room.

Alastair’s hand snapped down, putting out the cigarette underneath his palm, ignoring the burns. “You want me to tell you how wrong you are? Fine. Bruce was a great man. He’d work with us. He never told us to do things unless he did it first. He was amazing. He would listen to everyone’s ideas, and would try everyone’s ideas even if they ended up not working, because he always believed that people may have great ideas, and if you ignore them, you might be losing out on something big. Everyone loved him. He never hated anyone—”

“Sounds like a lot of horse shit,” James said, pulling another cigarette out of the package. “No one can be that kind.”

Alastair reached over, snatching the cigarette from his hand and crushing it in his fist. “Well he was you dumb fuck, and you’ll never get to know, because he’s _dead_.”

“Obviously,” James scoffed, taking out another cig like it was no big deal.

Alastair threw the crumpled cig on the ground. “You really don’t care about anyone, do you?”

“Neither do you,” James shot back.

“I have good reason.”

“Mhm. What, did your daddy leave you?”

“No,” Alastair said, and then looked away. The only person he had really talked too about his emotional issues was his therapist, and he wasn’t going to spill his guts to this fucker.

James lit his cig, and took a deep drag, before blowing it up in the air. When he spoke again, he decided to change the subject, “So, if he was such a good dude, why does Teddy have such a distaste to him?”

Alastair stared at him. “You’re joking, right?” He watched him shake his head. “Wow, you really know nothing about F1 history, do you?”

“Only the history I care about.”

“So, you mean Stirling Moss and his gang of men who pay women to have sex with them.”

James frowned. “They’re womanizers.”

“No, they’re not. Because nothing about them scream ‘womanizers’. You have seen Stirling Moss, right? Disgusting sexist? As if.”

He huffed in reply. “So, anyways, explain Teddy’s dislike of Bruce.”

Alastair stared hard at him, contemplating on whether he should tell him the story, but then he sighed, deciding he should. “At the 1964, during the down under series, Teddy’s brother Timmy was killed at a circuit in Tasmania. He was driving a car Bruce and his team had designed, so for all intents and purposes, it was a McLaren car. Naturally, Teddy was extremely upset about it, and blamed Bruce for it.”

“So . . . why did he work for him, then?”

“I have no clue. Bruce bought a car out in America, asked Teddy to bring it to England, and offered him a job.”

They went quiet, with James taking another long drag from his cig while Alastair stared at the floor. He was tired, he was emotionally drained. He was going to have to call his therapist tonight . . .

“So, tell me this.”

“Yes?”

“Most of these guys, they worked for Bruce?” James asked. Alastair frowned at him, and eyed him, wondering if this man could be this fucking ignorant when it came to his own team.

“Yes. Most of them. Very few have left due to Teddy, and because the teams been expanding, we’ve had to add people on,” Alastair said, returning his eyes to the ground.

“Why are you still around? I thought all of you were loyal to Bruce.”

“What the hell does that mean?” he snapped back, staring hard at him.

“Well, you were all loyal to him, not to Teddy. Why have you all stayed?”

“ _Because_ of that loyalty. We want to see his team do well, after he died trying to make his dream come to life. We want to do this in his honor,” he replied without a second thought.

James raised an eyebrow at him, and then began to pick the dry blood off of his face. “Well, I think you’re all stupid.”

“ _What?_ ”

“You shouldn’t be doing this just to make his legacy live on.”

“That’s only part of the reason, you idiot! Why do you think I said some people have left? Not everyone wanted to stick with this just to make sure his memory lived on. That’s just a part of the major reasons why,” he said, rubbing his sore and red knuckles, finally feeling the soreness in them.

“Why do you enjoy calling me an idiot?”

“Because you are one and that’s my prerogative. Maybe if you actually stopped acting like one and used that ‘genius’ brain of yours I wouldn’t call you one.”

James raised an eyebrow, and then got up. He found a sheet of metal, and he looked into it as he picked his skin clean. “It’s been six years you know. People are going to start thinking of this as Teddy’s team.”

Alastair glared at him. “Shouldn’t your jaw be hurting right about now?” he asked bitterly.

“You didn’t hit me all that hard.”

“I can see your jaw starting to swell. I hit you pretty damn hard,” Alastair replied. James rolled his eyes. “You’re wrong. This is Bruce’s team still. It’ll always be his team.”

“In name but not in spirit. People are going to forget about him. People are going to see the new team owners and associate it with them. Bruce will be long forgotten.”

“You want me to punch you in the jaw again, don’t you?” he said, standing up and clenching his fists. James stared down at the piece of metal, not noticing him approaching.

“You’re not going too. Besides, you know I’m right, might as well get used to it—” before he could get out another word, Alastair grabbed him by the back of the head and slammed his face into the metal. When he came back up, blood was pouring down his nose and he was holding it tightly. He didn’t yelp in pain, but it was very evident he was hurting.

“What the hell was that for?”

“Daring to even open your stupid mouth. Do you even think before you speak? That’s never going to happen.”

“It will, and he’ll only ever be remembered to people like you, who have fond memories.”

Alastair backed away from him, jaw clenched tightly, and he realized he was crying again. James turned to look at him, and he actually stopped when he saw Alastair crying. “Shut up. For the love of God, shut up. He’s more important than you’ll ever be. Shut up,” he said quietly, backing away. When his back finally touched the other end of the garage did he stop. He was deeply shaken, and his mind just kept replaying that day over and over again. He kept seeing Bruce’s face, telling him one more lap, telling the others to adjust the wing, and Alastair not even telling him a word. How his last words to him would be, ‘If you adjust that wing high, we should get more downforce, and it’ll be better’. Then, he was gone.

He didn’t notice James approaching until he grabbed him and placed him in a chair. Alastair jumped, and fought at first, but then let him place him in a chair. James then sat down on the floor.

“Why are you so broken up about him?” James asked, staring up at him, wiping away more blood from his nose. “Also, stop hitting me.”

“I wouldn’t hit you if you stopped being so stupid,” Alastair snapped, hands clenched. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“I’ll keep pestering you if you don’t and you’ll just have to keep hitting me.”

“I’d actually prefer that,” Alastair mumbled, running a hand through his hair.

James rolled his eyes again, and they sat there in silence for a long time, before Alastair took a deep breath, and said quietly, “I was one of the people who found him. I . . . I held him until the ambulance came. There. Are you happy?”

He watched as James’ eyes went wide. “You _held_ him?” he asked. Alastair sighed and nodded.

“Yes . . . I . . . I found him, held him, and then when the ambulance came he had to be pried from my arms.” Tears were starting to fall down his cheeks again.

“I—” James began.

Alastair interrupted, “I held his ragdoll body in my arms. He was dead before we even got there. He was ejected from the car.” He stared at James, causing him to gulp. “And you wonder why I care about this team.” He didn’t sob, but tears gently flowed down his cheeks.

“I . . .” his face was pale. “I’m sorry,” he said finally, and then swallowed hard.

Alastair was slightly surprised but felt like dead weight and couldn’t express it. “I don’t care what you say. I’m tired of caring about what you say and having to defend him.”

“I’m sorry. You don’t have too.”

“I know.”

James went quiet, unable to think of anything to say except for the fact he was sorry. Seeing Alastair like this was odd, and he didn’t like it. Who would, after seeing the same man being emotionless for nearly the entire season?

Alastair decided to say something else, keeping the almost one-sided conversation going. “That’s why I don’t become friends with drivers anymore. I can’t do it. I can’t go through that again,” he looked at James, “If I were to become friends with you, and you died . . . I wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

“What would happen to you?” James asked, voice low, and unsure.

“You know what I’d do.”

James was painfully aware of what he’d do, and he swallowed. “Look, I’m really sorry for being hard on you, and for being pushy. I’m also sorry for what I said about the team.”

“Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to them. They’re the ones who want it and deserve it.”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t want anything from you. I just want you to shut up, do your job, and leave me alone.”

James stood up, swallowing hard. He walked over to the cooler they had in the back, grabbing a paper towel and a bottle of water. He used the paper towel to clean up the jizz stains from his pants, before he left.

Alastair heard him speaking to the mechanics and other team members, starting to apologize. He just folded his arms around himself, and began to full on cry.


End file.
